


We Are A Winning Combination

by Figlepie



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Childishness, Domestic Avengers, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Past Johnny Storm/Tony Stark, Pure Crack In Places, Science Bros, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Figlepie/pseuds/Figlepie
Summary: Tony and Steve have great chemistry and like all great chemical reactions, theirs goes a lot better when you apply a little heat.So, flame on, right?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Kudos: 59





	1. Light Up, Spark The Detonator

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> I’ve been kind of sad recently, so I’ve been watching a lot of superhero movies to cheer myself up. Then, this idea fell in to my brain after watching the Fantastic Four movie from the 2000s and I couldn’t get it out. 
> 
> So, now you get to have it too. 🔥 
> 
> P.s Rated Mature for language and sexual references. Plus, Tony Stark lives fight me! 😉

  
The last few years have been rough for Steve Rogers.

First, there was the whole ‘freezing for 70 years in the arctic and now being forced to save the world from futuristic robots’ incident — which sucked.

Next, there was the whole ‘your best friend isn’t dead, but he’s an evil brain-washed assassin who killed your frenemy’s dad’ debacle — which sucked even more.

After that, there was the seemingly endless saga of ‘megalomaniacal purple weirdo who loves destruction and outlandish jewellery’, with the occasional interlude of ‘guess who’s dead now? Oh wait, never mind, Tony and Loki are back!’ — which honestly, the less said about all of it the better.   
  
But, as if all _that_ wasn’t bad enough, then came the whole soul-crushing ‘should I return to my own time to be with the woman I’m pretty sure I love, but to be honest, I’m not really certain. I mean, I literally spent like 2 months altogether with her if you actually add it up, so that’s a bit of a gamble. I never actually even kissed a girl until I was at least 24 and that was on stage and I’m not sure it counts. Not to mention, that I pretty much messed up my psyche forever by fighting the purple weirdo, so let’s face it, I ain’t anyone’s dream guy at the moment. Oh, and I kissed her niece, which might be a bit hard to explain at family dinners in a few years time. #Awkward’ episode.   
  
Which, _ugh_ , let’s just skip that bit too.

It was an awful choice to make, an awful time to do it in and Steve ugly-cried almost everyday in his shower for around 3 months — Not a win! 

It was _so_ bad, even emotional-intelligence-of-a-celery Tony Stark had taken pity on him and moved Steve in to a suite at the Tower under orders that he try to move on and get a fresh start in a new place. Which was lucky timing really, because then Steve got front row seats to the nuclear fallout of Pepper and Tony’s final epic break-up — _Double_ not a win!!

Everything - apart from strangely Steve’s reborn friendship with Tony - seemed as astronomically screwed up as it was ever going to get.

(Even Thor was depressed and that guy didn’t even really _get_ sad unless it was about that time some crazy lady broke Mjölnir or when Jane totally ‘‘didn’t’’ dump him.)

Forget being Captain America! _Steve Rogers_ was most days starting to seriously think about how much paint thinner he’d actually have to imbibe if he actually wanted to get truly shit-faced drunk. Which, according to Bruce’s calculations, was really quite a lot! 

_Damn . . ._

* * *

  
Then, out of nowhere, when no one was looking, things sort of just got . . . better. 

Sounds crazy, right? But it’s true.

Maybe it was some kind of spooky universe magic, or maybe it was just the natural progression of life. Yet somehow, some way, the months carried on going by. The tattered remains of people’s lives slowly stitched back together. Friendships were restored. Cities were rebuilt. Homes were filled with laughter again. Pepper and Tony stopped throwing things at each other in board meetings. Bruises began to fade and wounds slowly began to heal.

And _now_?

Well, some guy named Dr Doom has sent a bunch of really easy to kill robots to Central Park and The Avengers get to beat them up. Which Thor is so happy about when they win that he causes a massive thunder storm over New York and Hulk kicks a hot-dog stand in to the lake in celebration.

Even Clint and Natasha are cracking sarcastic smiles. 

So, God bless Dr Doom! If he wasn’t such a complete jerk-off, Steve might even thank him for helping to cheer everyone up. 

(After he’s finished righteously pummelling the good doctor’s creepy face in with his shield of course!) 

‘Woah, that’ll do there, Cap!’ Tony calls out from somewhere above Steve, sending a mild repulsor blast at his back to get his attention, ‘I think Steels On Wheels has eaten enough vibranium for one day, don’t you?’ 

‘Apologies.’ Steve Replies, dusting off his uniform and picking up his shield, ‘Guess I got a little carried away.’

‘Truth and justice will do that to a guy.’ Tony smirks, landing gracefully on the grass and picking stray robot-debris out of the joints of his suit, ‘It’s been a while since we were in the friendly, neighbourhood hero-ing business, I think we’ve all gotten a little heavy handed.’   
  
As if to demonstrate his point, across the lawn Hulk wildly swings the still-twitching body of a robot around by its legs before catapulting it straight at Thor. Who, with his typical Asgardian enthusiasm, flies through the air to smash it ferociously with his hammer like a giant, metal baseball.

The robot ricochets through the air across the park in a shower of sparks and lightning before tangling in the thick branches of an oak tree and loudly bursting in to flames. 

‘Home run for Odinson!’ Clint yells hoarsely at them, attempting to lift Natasha up in to a cheerleader hold before she promptly decks him to the ground without ruffling a single hair on her own head. 

‘Yeeeeah, I think we better round up the team. Prying eyes and all that.’ Tony sighs fondly, gesturing lazily at a line of trees about 200 yards away, where a gaggle of eager looking journalists are starting to trickle towards the scene of destruction through the scorched undergrowth. 

‘I’ll see to the them.’ Steve says sternly, squaring his shoulders. 

‘Let Fury and Hill deal with it, Cap.’ Tony says dismissively, ‘Or better yet, let Coulson do it. S.H.I.E.L.D brought him back from the grave to babysit us, after all, didn’t they? Plus, the undead do love the spotlight. Just look at how many zombie movies there are, he probably—’

‘I mean it, go home, Tony.’ Steve interrupts him, trying not to laugh, ‘You and the team can stand down, I’ve got this.’

‘Fine, have it your way, soldier. I’ll be the good wife and round up the babies, _as usual_.’ Tony complains dramatically, starting up his repulsors with a flash of blue and orange, calling out to the others, ‘Come on kids, little league practice is over, daddy wants to get Chinese food!’ 

Dr Doom lets out a pitiful little moan and seems to be beginning to stir again. Steve sits down heavily on his shiny metal chest in retaliation and admires Tony darting gracefully away through the air.

He skilfully hovers the Iron Man suit just meters above the park’s footpath as he goes, using the repulsors to push some of the worst of the smouldering metal detritus back on to the grass. When Tony reaches a little patio clearing with a lamppost, he swings happily around it Gene Kelly style, turning briefly back to give Steve a little salute, before he’s off again in a flash of red and gold. 

Under the star on his chest, Steve feels something visceral give a fluttery, lurching thud inside him and a dazed feeling of joy sparks unbidden up the nerves in his spine.   
  
_Damn_ , he thinks to himself, shaking the sudden tension in his hands out and turning to meet the horde of reporters and S.H.I.E.L.D cleanup agents skulking up behind him, _days without incidents of being sweet on Tony Stark: reset to 0._


	2. Now I’m Homeward Bound, Way To See You Later

No one sets out to fall in love with Tony Stark.

At least, no one sane that is. 

Tony is a genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist. Which alone, should be an unstable enough of a combination to make anyone looking for a serious, grounded relationship run a mile.

 _But_ , for the romantic thrill-seekers, of which there have been many, Tony _also_ throws in an overpowered deadly weapon that he wears as a suit, fighting bad guys with a determination that’d shame a kamikaze pilot and enough daddy issues to make even Sigmund Freud start crying in to his porn stash. 

Tony is too much and not enough, too clever and too stupid, a really good guy and a potential world-dominating super-villain all neatly wrapped up in a 5’8 package of brown eyes, charisma, insomnia and caffeine addiction.

Sam had once said conversationally to Steve over burritos, ‘You know, if Tony ever got zapped by gamma radiation like that Banner guy did, I bet whatever would come outta him would probably make The Hulk pee his pants.’

Nick Fury had once apparently, while unusually drunk on spiked punch at a S.H.I.E.L.D Christmas party, told an amused Clint that ‘If it came down to ‘fuck, marry, kill’ for Stark, Romanov and Danvers. I’d marry Danvers, ditch the fuck and kill that Stark motherfucker twice.’ 

Pepper Potts, who despite their epic breakup, still loves Tony in a way no other woman will ever come close to, frequently threatens to pay Coulson to have him assassinated and then shipped back to her so she can feed his corpse to piranhas.

Even Tony himself once told Steve, while the latter was carrying his incredibly inebriated team-mate up to his apartment after a Stark Industries gala, ‘People think that the phrase ‘‘problematic’’ is supposed to upset me, Stevie. It doesn’t though, it’s like waaaay too tame. Reality is like . . . if there was a blueprint for ‘problematic’, I’d be the next model up, you know. Imma be like a boss fight for ‘problematic’. If Godzilla and Einstein had a baby and that baby was really sexy, but also a total douchebag, I’d probably be it!’ 

Steve didn’t really quite understand that last one and Tony had passed out face down in his bed before he’d had a chance to ask, but to all of the other claims about Tony, he will willingly agree.

 _But_ , Steve also has an important counter proposal: Though they might not be obvious, Tony Stark _does_ actually have many good qualities.

 **The evidence:** Tony was brave enough, clever enough and vibrant enough to make a jaded, nonagenarian supersoldier from the past - who was pretty much emotionally dead inside - get hot under the collar (with anger, mind you) when they first met. _Then,_ he somehow persuaded said supersoldier to join a superhero squad with him to save the world from aliens. _Then_ , after an argument and a bunch of nasty shit, he persuaded said supersoldier _again,_ to return from being a fugitive, to go traipsing throughout the galaxy with him and save half of the life in the universe.

 _Most importantly though_ , Tony’s big brown eyes and his unique charm unknowingly made the very same supersoldier question everything he ever thought he knew about himself and his heart after coming _back_ from all the galaxy travelling and thus stopped him from going back through a time portal. 

So yeah, to sum it up: Steve Rogers, national icon and chaotic, time-travelling, bi-sexual is head over heels for the son of the man he used to think was a total slimeball for hitting on the ex-love-of-his-life. Who he really respects as a team-mate, but also has a sinking feeling might be the most unattainable choice for a sweetheart ever. That is, until maybe they can somehow work out how to make the supersoldier serum grow Steve some cracking breasts.   
  
Holy hell!

* * *

  
Steve doesn’t get back to the Tower until nearly five hours after the other Avengers leave the scene of the Dr Doom fight.

He had put on his best Captain America face for the impromptu press-briefing in Central Park, then obediently followed Coulson back to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ to deposit Dr Doom’s metallic ass in a suitably uncomfortable holding cell. Nick Fury then accosted him on his way to sign out and dragged Steve in to a conference room where he had rambled maniacally for nearly half an hour on the destructive capacities of the Avengers, before disappearing in an angry swirl of disapproving leather coat.

Steve’s eyes burnt and exhaustion ached deep in his bones by the time he finally arrived home. All he had the energy for was to fall directly in to his shower and begin his post-fight ritual of scrubbing himself thoroughly. 

Water had been a precious commodity during the war, unless you were lucky enough to make camp near a river and bathing properly was an uncommon luxury. Yet, after every skirmish with the Howling Commandos, Steve would still always make the time to step away from the action and clean _at least_ the worst of the blood and dirt away from his face and hands.

The serum heightened all of his senses, which has saved him in battle more times than Steve can care to count, but it also used to leave him jittery after an adrenaline rush. Calming down from almost any kind of high took just that little bit longer and required a little more focus than it did for the average soldier. Cleaning up physically seemed to help that.

It’s something Steve has now learned to cope with over the years and while he doesn’t feel the same crawling anxiety he used to when the heat of battle has cooled, he still keeps his washing routine and the other Avengers know better than to disturb it. 

They all have their own personal little post-fight rituals anyway. Clint likes to repair any damage to his bow, Natasha likes to sit alone in silence, Bruce hides in his lab, Tony eats himself silly and Thor downs buckets of fresh beer like he’s preparing for a shortage.

So, in the grand scheme of things, Steve’s little wash routine isn’t so strange. 

‘Captain Rogers?’ JARVIS asks politely, when he is out of the shower and drying himself off with one of the big, fluffy towels Tony’s housekeeping always provides for him. 

‘Yes, JARVIS?’   
  
‘Mr Stark has left you a voice message. Shall I take the liberty of playing it to you, Captain?’

‘Sure.’ Steve replies, ignoring the way his pulse gives a little skip at the mention of Tony’s name. 

‘Hey, Captain Handsome!’ the familiar voice echoes throughout the bathroom, ‘I saw you on the news earlier, very dashing and patriotic, even Fury shed a manly tear during the debrief video call. Although, that may of been after he saw the bill for the damage to Central Park. Anyhow, we ate dinner without you and now everyone’s gone to do whatever illegal things they do when they aren’t fighting crime. So, it’s just you and your Chinese leftovers, I’m afraid. Nat put them in your fridge for you. If the crippling loneliness gets too much however, Brucie Bear and I have retired down to his lair to work on a little problem, come say hi if the dim sum isn’t good company. Ciao, Capitano.’  
  
Steve repeats the message once more after listening to it, letting it play while he’s sitting at his dinner table and blindly shovelling chow mien in to his mouth.

He often replays the messages Tony leaves him; the man’s voice always sounds so casual and easy, like the old radio stars on the wireless. The masculine tones bouncing off the walls of Steve’s quiet apartment and filling the stillness with that little bit of Tony’s trademark Stark liveliness.   
  
Steve made peace long ago with his decision to stay in this time. Yet, if there’s one thing that he still really misses about his old life, _especially_ now that he’s moved in to the tower, it’s the noise and maybe also the mess too.  
  
Steve’s old apartment back in Brooklyn had been cramped, damp and shoved between an Italian immigrant family of 6 and a pair of musician brothers who liked to practice their trumpets early in the morning. At the time, Steve had hated it. He was constantly avoiding Mrs Scalco as she engaged in shouting matches with her husband Mario out on the landing, or he was banging on the wall as one of the Lister boys, Mickey or Bobby, Steve didn’t care which, started practicing his scales.

Back then, he used to moan to Bucky all the time that all he wanted was a little bit of peace and quiet and maybe a butler to pick up after himself.

Now, in this sterile, modern world of noise-cancelling walls and silent, impersonal appliances that do everything for you, Steve sometimes finds himself craving the yells of an errant child getting scolded outside, a C Flat loudly played at 6 in the morning or even the smell of a pile of dirty laundry that desperately needs to be washed. 

It’s funny how things change.

If Steve was back home and still with Bucky - spending a night out amongst the sticky dive-bars and cheap nightclubs of _old_ Brooklyn that they used to haunt occasionally - he’d probably be pouring Steve another drink and calling him a no-good, fussy old maid about now. 

_If he was back in_ his _Brooklyn that is . . ._

‘JARVIS?’ Steve says, sharply shaking himself from the memories and hurriedly clearing the plates away. 

‘Yes, Captain?’   
  
‘Are Tony and Bruce still down in the Doctor’s lab?’

‘Indeed they are, Captain. Shall I call your private elevator to take you down there, sir?’   
  
‘No thanks,’ Steve replies, cracking his neck and heading for the door, ‘I’ll take the stairs.’ 

* * *

Bruce’s lab is so different to Tony’s workshop, that the contrast may as well be as marked as night and day. 

Tony’s workshop is a mess. It’s scattered with tools, half-finished projects, wires, schematics, blobs of soldering metal, coffee cups growing fluffy mould and piles of dirty clothes. Sometimes, when Tony’s been in there a long time, especially if he’s angry, the place starts to smell too - a pungent mixture of grease, oil, sweat and whiskey. 

Bruce’s lab, on the other hand, smells like recycled air, aftershave and chemicals. Bruce keeps all his tools in neatly-marked drawers, his papers in folders, his floor free of shrapnel and he absolutely point-blank bans _anyone_ from eating or drinking near his machines on pain of a death by Hulk-smash. 

Tony seems to love to come down to Bruce’s lab. He’s not a scientist by trade, but he often says he finds the disciplined process of Bruce’s work fascinating. Plus, he likes nothing more than to annoy the doctor by moving things around on his desk.

When Tony _isn’t_ being a pest though, the pair do seem to work well together too. They’re self-proclaimed science-bros and can natter away for hours sometimes, like two excitable, labcoat-wearing seagulls.

Bruce can use machines Tony doesn’t have the patience or skills for and he’s the only one who can usually put Tony right if a project he’s working on is going off the rails. Steve enjoys seeing them collaborate, but he usually feels out of place and a bit envious of their easy intelligence when they do so. Plus, it’s not often they invite him to the lab to join them, so the invitation tonight is a bit of a surprise.

Still, not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth and actually feeling in need of a bit of company, Steve isn't willing to turn them down today.

As he keys in the code and opens the door to the lab, Bruce and Tony are involved in a heated debate. Between them the holographic table is showing what looks like a jumble of sticks and balls floating in the air and Bruce is gesturing to a small highlighted portion of it seriously. 

‘This particular polymer structure is great for flexibility, which was obviously what I wanted it for most.’ He says, glasses perched on his nose and eyes earnest, ‘But, I guess I must of overlooked it’s other qualities. It disintegrates easily under higher temperature and when I’m taking a lot of fire damage out there, well, you saw it today.’

‘I saw _you_ running semi-naked in to heavy ordnance, Brucie-bear. Which really, is how you get yourself in to these situations in the first place.’ Tony chuckles, tossing a salted peanut in to his mouth, ‘No french kissing robot bombs equals no burnt undies.’ 

‘Try telling that to the other guy,’ Bruce sighs heavily, ‘and don’t eat in my lab. What kind of damn scientist are you?’ 

‘The engineering kind.’ Tony grins evilly.

‘Brunel would be ashamed.’ Bruce scolds him, grabbing the bag out of Tony’s hands and tossing it in the bin. He catches sight of Steve in the process and smiles warmly, ‘Oh, hello, you’re back. How was the press?’  
  
‘Never mind that, we all saw the news, Cap was inspiring, blah blah blah!’ Tony interrupts before Steve can reply, flinging himself off his desk chair and striding over to lead the supersoldier by the arm, ‘Come take a seat, Blue-eyes, you’ll love this one. Seems like our lean, green Banner-machine has been having some wardrobe malfunctions recently and he’s come to me for help, isn’t that cute?’   
  
‘I’m really starting to regret this.’ Bruce glowers at Tony, shaking his head and spinning the holographic image around to look at it from another angle. 

‘Is everything alright, Bruce?’ Steve asks, voice laced with concern.

‘Not quite. You see, the thing is—’ Bruce begins. 

‘The Hulk’s pants keep catching fire.’ Tony finishes with a childish laugh of glee.   
  
‘I-I’m sorry?’ Steve stammers, not quite sure he understands what’s going on. 

‘I’ve noticed that the Other Guy has been taking a lot of bomb attacks these days.’ Bruce explains softly, after he throws a handful of pens at Tony’s face, ‘It doesn’t hurt him physically, but my pants are only really designed for flexibility, durability and mild resistance to fire. They aren’t designed to be able to deal with the type of heat a bomb delivers and I’m worried that if I end up in a situation like today again, I might get—’

‘Your clothes burned off by horny aliens and be forced to run through the streets of New York with your massive, green—’

‘Tony!’ Steve interjects in alarm, before following it up swiftly with, ‘I see how that could be an . . . issue.’   
  
Horrifically, Steve can feel himself blushing. An embarrassing tell that he’s had since long before the serum and has never been able to shake whenever _adult_ topics are mentioned around him.

Even back in his army days, Steve was never the guy to talk crude in the mess hall or whistle out obscenities at the nurses. Bucky used to say that he was too damn catholic for his own good, but Steve disagrees. It’s got nothing to do with being catholic, it’s just got everything to do with being shy.   
  
Tony, like a shark smelling blood in the water, instantly notices the dusting of pink on his cheeks and bursts in to raucous fits of lecherous laughter. 

‘You really are too much sometimes, Rogers! I feel like I’m talking to the Pope.’ He guffaws, almost falling off his chair as he spins it back in delight, ‘You should loosen up a bit, doll. It’s just a bit of cock after all. What’s a bit of cock between co-workers?’ 

‘That’s it! Out my lab!’ Bruce says grumpily, skirting round the table and starting to shoo Tony out the door.

‘What did I do? What did I do?’ Tony protests between giggles. 

‘You’re a useless scientist for one.’ Bruce says darkly, though not darkly enough for any of them to be worried.   
  
‘Slander.’ Tony retorts, holding on to the doorframe as Bruce tries to push him out.

‘And you’ve upset Steve with your . . . language.’ Bruce huffs, his whole shoulder bracing against Tony’s back as he pushes. 

‘I’m not upset.’ Steve tries to protest from his seat.

Just as Tony shouts lasciviously over Bruce’s shoulder, ‘Tell Maid Marion, that if he’s never seen a man before, he’s more than welcome to come up to my room sometime and I’ll give him a full scientific demonstration.’ 

In a spill of limbs and scuffling, Bruce finally shunts Tony out of the lab and slams the door in his face. 

Their teammate lies on the floor outside laughing hysterically for a moment, though neither of them can actually hear him through the thick soundproof glass. When Tony finally bores of his fun, he quickly jumps up, dusts himself off and flips Bruce the bird while miming a ‘call me’ gesture at Steve and blowing him a kiss.   
  
‘Get lost!’ Bruce shouts at the glass, though there’s no way Tony can hear him and the billionaire is walking away now anyway. 

‘Never a dull moment around here.’ Bruce says to Steve with an amused sigh, rubbing at his neck and striding over to his computer. 

‘Seems not.’ Steve agrees quietly, trying to hide his breathless tone and the fact that his chest is pounding again.

 _Jesus, Rogers,_ he thinks, _this isn’t elementary school. Get a grip on yourself._

From his desk, Bruce looks up and regards Steve for a few long moments, his stare almost like a physical touch, before he laughs kindly and shakes his head. 

‘Still got it bad for Tony, huh?’ He asks gently.   
  
‘I’m working on it.’ Steve groans, scrubbing his face and avoiding making eye-contact.

‘I told you about the counter-system in order to help you. But, I think that when you’ve lost track of the amount of times that you’ve reset your crush-counter to zero this month, it’s time to start looking at alternatives.’ Bruce states sensibly, typing something briskly on his keyboard and aiming for nonchalance when he continues, ‘Nat says that UST between you two these days is like . . . almost a whole physical entity. Ever thought about just maybe letting it happen instead of fighting it?’ 

‘Speaking of Natasha,’ Steve retorts, ignoring his advice, ‘ever thought about asking her out on a real date instead of hiding away in your lab?’ 

‘Touché.’ Bruce chuckles awkwardly. 

Silence falls between them for a few moments and the hum of machinery and the computer mouse clicking starts almost to lull Steve to sleep. 

‘I’ve got it!’ Bruce suddenly gasps, tapping lightening quick on his keyboard again, ‘Our old pal Iron Man will be laughing on the other side of his face when I call in a real scientist.’ 

‘What are you doing?’ Steve asks, though he doesn’t really have any idea what they are still talking about anymore. 

‘I’m just sending a friendly request for help from Tony’s best buddy in the whole wide world: Reed Richards.’


	3. If You Make That Step, You’re The Instigator

The communal kitchen, on what they all refer to as ‘The Avengers Floor’ of Stark Tower, is usually deserted when Steve gets in from his morning run.

While his personal suite at the Tower has its own fully-functional kitchen, Steve likes the view from the communal one better and prefers to take his breakfast there whenever he can. 

Only Bruce gets up as early as him when they aren’t working and he’s usually holed-up in his lab by the time Steve finishes his morning workout. Usually, that means that Steve has the kitchen to himself for a few peaceful hours to enjoy a hot cup of coffee, read the daily newspaper and watch the sun start peeking up over the tops of the city’s skyscrapers. 

_This_ morning however, instead of his beloved silence, Steve hears loud voices before he’s even opened the kitchen doors and is surprised to see the place pretty hectic when he steps inside. 

‘That man is my arch nemesis!’ Tony is declaring dramatically, standing by the sink in his pyjamas and welding goggles, pointing directly at a dark-haired man sitting calmly next to Bruce at the breakfast bar, ‘How did you even get in here, Richards? I thought I barred you.’

‘Good morning to you too, Stark.’ The unknown man laughs, casually taking a sip of his coffee, ‘I take it that you’re still upset about the mass spec incident?’ 

‘Upset isn’t the word.’ Tony glowers, ‘Only _you_ would lend someone an exploding piece of kit, Dr Frankenstein.’

‘Me? Only _you_ would manage to explode a piece of lab equipment that isn’t even _meant_ to explode in the first place. Also, I thought Hydra was your arch nemesis?’

‘Uhh, excuse you Mr Fantastic, triggered much!’ Tony gasps, his expression contorting with pretend pain, ‘The octopussies are never to be mentioned in this house, except on strict world-saving-business - you’ll upset our resident Captain otherwise. Don’t try and distract me though, Richards. You have yet to explain how _your_ disaster of a personage is somehow present in my kitchen.’ 

‘He’s my guest, Tony.’ Bruce interjects exasperatedly, though there’s a slightly evil, teasing glint in his eyes, ‘I’m in desperate need of solving this polymer problem and Reed has kindly offered to help me.’ 

‘Desperate, I get.’ Tony rolls his eyes, stalking up close to the counter and stealing a big gulp of Bruce’s green tea right from the mug in the doctor’s hands and then grimacing afterwards, ‘C’mon though, cher Banner, if you’re going to cheat on me with another scientist, can’t it be with anyone else _but_ Richards. He tried to kill me with a mass spectrometer, you know?!’ 

‘You put 1kg of exposed lithium in it, what did you expect?’ Bruce huffs, scowling and grabbing his mug back from Tony, tipping the rest of his tea away and pouring himself a new one, ‘Also, you got any other suggestions for world-renowned scientists with expertise in incendiary-proof polymer composition?’ 

‘Uhhh . . .’ Tony fumbles, ‘Nikolai Tesla?’   
  
‘He’s dead.’ Bruce says blandly. 

‘No way!’ Tony crows, jumping back and whipping out his phone, ‘Did Elon kill him? That South African bastard!’ 

‘What’s going on?’ Steve says, taking the moment of hush, as Tony taps furiously on his Stark-phone keypad, to make his presence known. 

‘Oh, good morning.’ Bruce says, turning to grin at him, ‘I thought you might be up. Steve, this is Dr Reed Richards, aka Mr Fantastic. Reed, this is Steve Rogers, aka—’

‘Captain America.’ Reed Richards finishes, smiling and holding out his hand for Steve to shake, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for a while, but circumstances haven’t quite worked out that way.’ 

Steve is in the middle of waving off the apology with a friendly shake of his head, when Tony suddenly slots himself between the pair of them, slapping Steve’s hand back down by his side.

‘Get your own supersoldier.’ He snaps at Richards, leaning back in to Steve’s chest, ‘This one is the property of Stark Industries.’ 

‘Tony!’ Steve splutters, a blush forming from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. 

‘You’re unbelievable.’ Bruce scolds, sending Steve a sympathetic glance over Tony’s head, ‘We’re going now. Go be insane somewhere else, Stark.’ 

‘Bye, cheater.’ Tony calls after them, as Bruce and Richards put their cups in the dishwasher and head towards the elevator, ‘Call me when you need my help.’ 

‘Not going to happen, Mr I’m-Only-Good-At-Machines.’ Bruce calls back, childishly flipping him off with both hands. 

‘Oh, yeah? Just you wait, Igor.’   
  
‘It’s a bet then.’ Richards smirks, waving goodbye to Steve and pressing the button in the elevator with a ping, ‘Goodbye, Captain Rogers, it was lovely to meet you.’   
  


* * *

  
The polymer problem turns out to be more complex than first anticipated, due to convoluted sciencey reasons to do with melting points and carbon structure, that fly over Steve’s head without even a hint of understanding.

All he _does_ know, is that Reed Richards has taken a special interest in the process for some reason and become a permanent fixture in Bruce’s lab over the past few weeks.

Pepper assures Steve multiple times over the phone, that contrary to his constant moaning and threats to kick Bruce out the team for his treachery, Tony actually really likes Richards and respects him. The pair have known each other for years and just like to occasionally engage in the type of semi-unhealthy, egotistical competition that seems to be rife among every scientist Steve has ever met. 

Apparently, the mass spectrometer incident was just one in a long line of destruction Tony has caused to Richards’ lab equipment and in retaliation Mr Fantastic is having his revenge by flexing his superior knowledge of carbon-based material development in Iron Man’s face. 

Steve doesn’t get why they can’t just drunkenly scrap it out like normal guys, but then again he’s not a genius, just a time-travelling artist from Brooklyn.   
  


* * *

  
New York has been surprisingly villain-free this month.

More surprisingly, S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t seem to want the Avengers for anything nefarious either and Charles Xavier had assured Steve on the phone that his X-men were more than capable of handling anything crazy that might happen in the next few weeks on the east coast.

So, Steve is capitalising on the rare gift of peace in order to practice his watercolour skills, something he hasn’t been able to spend as much time on as he wanted to since leaving art school. 

He and Natasha are sat up on Tony’s penthouse balcony. Across the city, the bright afternoon sun glints off the glass and metal of the buildings below, reminding Steve of the gold cupolas of the orthodox slavic churches he’d seen in Europe all those years ago. 

The wind gently rustles the paper on his easel and something unexplainably summery seems to float along with it.

Steve thinks about other Julys he’d spent in the Big Apple, before all this glass and air conditioning was born. Of the smell of hot tarmac outside his fire escape, the screams of kids in the park and the taste of crushed ice with cherry that Bucky used to insist on buying. 

For once, the memories don’t even hurt. Steve simply lets them amalgamate with the current taste of traffic fumes in the breeze, the smell of sun cream on Natasha’s skin as she lounges on a bench nearby and the sound of Tony noisily preparing cocktails at his bar inside the apartment, swearing at himself that there isn’t enough lemon. 

Steve is happy and for a moment the knowledge shocks him, before it’s washed away by the contentment lapping at his heart and he doesn’t think about it anymore. 

‘Goddamn, it’s hot as balls out here!’ Tony grumbles, walking over to Steve and Natasha with a little silver tray he is balancing their drinks on, ‘You guys are crazy.’ 

‘Coming from the man who designs his home with a sun-deck and then never uses it.’ Natasha smirks, eyebrows raised, leaning back elegantly on the bench with a sigh. 

‘It’s a landing pad for the suit, not a sun-deck, Romanov.’ Tony scolds her, handing over an icy Aperol spritz, ‘You kids have no respect for other people’s property. I mean, who breaks in to a multi-million dollar apartment just to sunbathe?’

‘We didn’t break in, JARVIS buzzed us up and we can leave if we’re bothering you, Tony.’ Steve says seriously, a ball of worry forming in his stomach. 

‘Chill, Picasso. Mi casa su casa.’ Tony soothes, placing an icy glass of tonic water, frothy with a thick wedge of lime, down next to the easel and gesturing for Steve to take a sip, ‘I don’t mind you guys being up here. At least someone other than the pigeons finally gets to enjoy this place. Sun worship isn’t really my style.’ 

‘I still don’t get that about you. Didn’t you live in a beach house in Malibu for years?’ Steve laughs, shaking his head in confusion. 

‘Turns out melanomas aren’t my thing.’ Tony grins back, ‘I mostly lived in the _basement_ of the beach house though. I’m a lab-rat, Rogers, or a workshop-rat, whatever you want to call it.’ 

‘I think I prefer ‘inventor’.’ Steve corrects teasingly, cleaning his brush off in a jam-jar of misty water and fixing Tony with what he _hopes_ is an alluring smile, ‘After all, in _my_ experience as one myself, lab-rats don’t tend to be good-looking, playboy geniuses now, do they?’

Leaning against the railings, the golden sun shining on his face, Tony watches Steve contemplatively, seemingly a little thrown by the uncharacteristic display of blatant flirting from the supersoldier.

He recovers quickly however and after a brief moment of thought, places his own drink down on a table and swaggers languidly across the patio to the easel. Here, he places a tender hand on the back of Steve’s shoulder and leans down close to admire his canvas. 

‘I disagree. I think I’ve met at least one handsome lab-rat in my time.’ he murmurs softly, his face suddenly so close to Steve’s ear, that he can actually feel the flickering touch of Tony’s breath against it, ‘Now, tell me what you’re working on today. You always paint so lovely, Captain and you know how I just _love_ to admire beautiful . . . _art_.’

Steve feels his own breath hitch without meaning to and he tries desperately to prevent a delighted shiver from running across his skin, his mind both fully aware that Natasha is still somewhere nearby _and_ that this is dangerous territory. 

_Days without incidents of being sweet on Tony Stark: reset to 0._

That’s the problem, you see!

Crushing on Tony Stark wouldn’t actually be so bad after all, if Tony hadn’t actually started doing this really sexy but infuriating _thing_ recently.

It happens occasionally, usually when they’re playfully bantering and Steve seems to be least on his guard. Tony will suddenly get all up in his space, voice low, eyes flashing and his touches hesitant and chaste yet firm and tempting too.

Clint and Natasha reckon it’s just a new symptom of the raging case of chronic UST that’s been going on between the pair of them for years, but Steve himself isn’t so sure. 

Most of the time, Tony flirts with _everyone._

Usually loudly, brashly and with a scandalous charm that’s likely to either get him in to the nearest bed or punched squarely in the face.

He _especially_ likes to flirt with Steve, whose more reserved than the others about those sorts things and who Tony seems to like to make squirm as much as humanly possible.

It can be distracting at times and it can occasionally get Steve’s chest pounding in a weak moment, but usually he can mostly ignore it. 

Times like _this_ though, when Tony looks at Steve like he’s a problem that he desperately wants to solve, yet doesn’t quite know how. When he’s as close to dropping the bravado act and seeming genuinely interested as Tony can get. _Those_ are the times that make Steve’s head spin and fear start to prickle in his gut. 

If he’s honest with himself and he usually tries to be, Steve knows that to some extent Tony finds him appealing. He might be inexperienced with relationships, but he’s certainly not blind and Tony doesn’t hide his attraction to people he thinks are pretty very well.

 _But_ , as far as Steve is aware, Tony has a long romantic history with exclusively women _and_ has just got out of a long-term relationship with one a little over six months ago. 

Further still, Steve was in the army, he went travelling across the USA with the USO and he was also briefly in art school. He _knows_ that occasionally - when curiosity takes them, when they’re bored or when they're particularly emotional - guys like to experiment with their own sort a little.

In fact, Steve has been in enough stolen kisses in dark alleys, accosted backstage by lighting guys and pulled in to the sleeping bags of his fellow soldiers to know just how it all works with _some_ guys. 

Take Bucky for example, as much as Steve had wanted him back in the day, it was never going to go further than the single drunken fumble they’d had behind a bar once before Steve had changed or a quick, relieved kiss or two on the cheek after battle.

Bucky just wasn’t _that_ type; he liked dames too much and Steve was just a brief, friendly experiment. 

Even with the few women that he’d courted - Peggy included - though the kisses were sweet and the touches seemed achingly real, Steve could never quite tell if it was him or the _experience_ of him that the girls were actually after. 

Years later and Steve is now pretty much used to being an experiment. He knows that when it comes to love, he’s often a place-holder, a one-time experience, a memorable tumble in the straw with The Star Spangled Man with a Plan. He’s never even really minded it before much either; he likes to please people and Steve’s also not too proud to admit that, after years of nothing, it can be damn nice to be wanted.

But this time, to play that sort of game with _Tony_? 

He just can’t. 

Steve has felt the tension building between them since Pepper left and he knows that if it gets out of hand, if they flirt past the unspoken line, he’s going to somehow find himself spread out like a trophy hunt on Tony’s silk sheets.

It’s a tempting thought, but though he’s keen as they come for it, Steve’s in a little too deep these days with his feelings to just be a one night curiosity or a Pepper-rebound mistake. His days of facilitating bisexual awakenings for men he loves are over. 

So, when Tony gets too close, Steve tends to pull back. 

This time though, he doesn’t even need to. Tony’s grip is still branding a mark on his shoulder, when across the terrace, Natasha takes off her sunglasses and sits up suddenly. 

‘Guys, what the hell is that?’ She asks, voice full of concern, pointing up to a bright streak of light that suddenly bursts from behind a skyscraper several blocks away and barrels through the air straight towards the tower. 

‘Oh, Jesus.’ Tony mumbles, letting go of Steve’s shoulder and standing up abruptly, ‘Doesn’t he ever do as he’s fucking told?’ 

‘Tony?’ Steve questions quickly, standing up in to a defensive pose, ‘Do you know what that object is?’ 

‘It looks like a person. Potentially a mutant.’ Natasha shouts, her bright eyes betraying her alarm. 

‘Stand down.’ Tony yells at her, when she swiftly pulls a gun out of somewhere inside her sundress, ‘It’s okay, Nat, he’s with me!’

The streak of light moves closer, so close that Steve can actually hear the roaring crackle of flames. On closer inspection, it _does_ shockingly turn out to be the burning body of a man, flying almost directly towards the terrace in a halo of light, before dipping out of orbit and pitching down on the Iron Man landing deck with a burst of heat and fire.

Both Steve and Natasha stare blankly at the sight, their bodies taught with the thrum of adrenaline. 

The flames however, disappear almost as quickly as they came, leaving behind the tall form of a young-looking man with darkish blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He stands on the landing pad for a moment, shielding his eyes from the bright sun, before stepping down with a laugh and walking towards them all. 

‘Goddamn it, Storm. I told you to come in via the lobby! What part of that did your pea-sized brain translate to mean fly in through the windows like a human bazooka?’ Tony yells, striding crossly over to join him, ‘If I hadn’t been out here, you’d of got your ass handed to you by a pissed-off assassin and a legendary supersoldier.’ 

‘Ouch, frosty welcome.’ The guy responds jokingly, leaping down another flight of steps and flinging his arm around Tony’s neck happily, ‘I thought we were all kissed and made up, Tony. You know, I’d heard from Susie that you’d gotten serious, but this I didn’t expect! How long has it been? Six, seven years maybe? Is this any way to greet your old buddy Human Torch after all this time?’   
  
‘You’re lucky I’m not wearing my suit, firecrotch. Then you’d really get a warm welcome.’ Tony glares, but Steve is shocked to see that he slips his arm around the guy’s waist in return anyway.

‘Tony, honey, you wound me. I came out all this way, cos you asked me to help you and this is what I get. Aren’t you even going to introduce me to your very attractive, if also very terrifying, entourage?’ The guy teases, waggling his fingers at them in a playful wave. 

‘First things first, Junior, never call me honey ever again.’ Tony deadpans, his cheeks actually turning slightly pink, before he turns back to Steve and Natasha with a flourish, ‘Sorry about the panic ladies and gentleman. Apparently, _some_ people are incapable of going anywhere without making a grand entrance.’

‘Coming from you.’ The guys grins, his fiery blue eyes full of mischief, ‘Nice to meet you both, I’m Johnny Storm.’

Steve instantly doesn’t like him. 


	4. Got My Mind Made Up, I’ll Be Your Navigator.

Tony, for an apparent lack of anything better to do in their down-time, has taken the brief talk of a bet with Bruce and Reed Richards seriously.

So, shut up in their respective lab spaces at Stark Tower - Reed aided by Bruce and Tony aided by JARVIS - both inventors have been working all month on a heat-resistant polymer composition for the Hulk’s new costume.

Its the start of August, NYC is sweltering and sluggish, but neither Tony or Reed seem to let that phase them as they drag their new fabrics in to the product-testing phase. 

Usually, for Tony at least, this would mean a deluge of swearing, tremors and acrid explosions felt throughout the tower. However, in a rare strike of unexpected maturity, this time the billionaire decides _not_ to simply put up the new fabric on a titanium hanger in his workshop and throw pipe bombs at it.

Instead, he beats Richards to it first and calls in the Human Torch to be his living, controlled heat variable. 

In practice, what this actually seems to mean is that Tony spends all day in his workshop with Johnny Storm, watching and taking notes while the guy incinerates test fabric off his perfectly-sculpted body in large flaming strips.

To say that Steve is unimpressed by this would be an understatement.

Oh, he’s all for superhero team-building; he’s been nagging S.H.I.E.L.D for months to get them training exercises alongside the X-men, just in case of emergencies and if that had proved successful, Steve would of eventually gotten around to involving the Fantastic Four too.

But, in his mental planning, Steve had always assumed that cross-team fraternisation with other heroes would involve more strategic battle drills and less pyrokinetic pretty boys flying in to _his_ team’s tower and turning the head of _his_ second-in-commmand with their obnoxious super-powers and chiselled abs.   
  
Not that Steve is jealous or anything mind you, that’d be highly unprofessional!  
  


* * *

  
After their less than perfect introduction, Steve had quickly gathered that Tony and Johnny were old friends of some description, though Tony had apparently never felt it prudent to mention Storm to any of the Avengers before _and_ he hadn’t told anyone apart from JARVIS that he was coming to help him with his developments. 

It was _also_ quickly clear, that Tony’s intense interest in winning the wager and beating Reed Richards, meant that he was now in full crazy-engineer mode. His focus fixed entirely on Johnny and the problem at hand.

Which, okay, Steve can handle that.

Johnny Storm himself seemed relatively harmless too.

Steve hadn’t heard much about the Human Torch on the S.H.I.E.L.D grapevine before, but what he had done, mostly from Clint, had led him to believe that though apparently a little hot-headed and arrogant at times, Johnny was essentially a stand-up guy.

On closer acquaintance personally however, Steve found that though he usually could look past the character flaws in most people (he did love _Tony_ after all), something about Johnny Storm just rubbed him completely up the wrong way.

Oh, there was nothing majorly wrong. Johnny was just every bit the daredevil he was rumoured to be and more.

He was mischievous, funny, confident, brash and arrogantly-charming. He made friends everywhere he went, could hold his own in a fight and he was rakishly inappropriate most of the time.

In fact, almost everyone he met, Steve included, seemed to interest Johnny in some sort of way and he was an outrageous flirt with both men and women alike.

Which, okay, Steve doesn’t like it, but he can still sort of handle. 

Except, then it turns out that with Tony especially, Johnny was an _extremely_ hands-on kind of flirt.   
  
In the communal kitchen, in the gym, in the workshop, in the elevator, in front of Pepper, in front of the press and right in the middle of an Avengers meal that he was invited to - Johnny would touch Tony, his movements heavy with bantering flirtation. 

As far as anyone could tell, when it came to Tony Stark, Johnny Storm and his wandering hands didn’t seem to ever take a break!!

Which, okay, that’s the man he loves and Steve can handle it a little less, but what really makes it hard is . . . 

Tony’s reaction to Johnny’s overtures was just plain strange.

At first he’d seemed frustrated, ignoring the kid’s innuendos and shepherding him into the lab like an unruly puppy. Then, after a while, when others were around and they’d gotten used to Johnny, Tony seemed almost flattered. His face smugly fixed in an ‘I-told-you-I-was-irresistible-isn’t-my-life-a-burden’ smirk whenever Storm got flirty in front of any Avenger. 

_Now_ , a month or so in, despite his own famously outrageous personality, instead of matching Storm jibe for jibe and touch for touch anymore, Tony seems all types of thrown by the situation. Oscillating between slightly pleased, boldly reciprocating, and shyly unsure. 

Tony’s so busy being monopolised by Storm and his research these days, that he doesn’t even send Steve the heated looks and playful voice messages that he used to do all the time much either. 

It’s almost like Tony might actually be . . . _interested in Johnny_. 

Which, okay, Steve definitely _cannot_ handle. 

* * *

  
Steve isn’t vain, he’s had years before the serum to get used to being the least interesting guy in the room.

He is also fully aware that he has no claim to Tony _whatsoever_. 

Despite the sexual tension between them, Steve’s purposefully never made a move. (He’s not about the wreck a perfectly good friendship for something as uncertain as sexual attraction). Plus, since Pepper, Tony hasn’t shown any _real_ interest in moving on seriously with anyone.

So, all things considered, Steve doesn’t have any right to feel slighted. 

Yet, as Natasha likes to remind him, Tony is no longer giving the supersoldier his undivided attention anymore, he’s giving it to Johnny and Johnny is giving it back.   
  
And _that_ , despite how wrong he knows it is, is driving Steve crazy with pure, unadulterated jealousy! 

He just isn’t used to the feeling of visceral anger that churns heavily in his gut every time he sees Johnny swat Tony playfully on the ass or tease him with a witty remark.

It’s far worse than how it used to feel, seeing Howard flirt with Peggy back in the day and doubly worse than how it used to feel watching Bucky with any of his dates. 

Steve is all out of whack with his emotions and for the first time, it’s starting to become a problem.

So, like any coward, instead of facing it head on, avoidance had seemed like the best strategy.

It’s better for everyone really.

Steve doesn’t have to watch Tony blush when Johnny calls him a genius or strokes his cheek and Coulson doesn’t have to explain to Fury why the leader of the Avengers punched the Human Torch out the 78th storey window of Stark Tower during team brunch.   
  


* * *

  
In a farce of the game ‘telephone’, that Steve used to play as a child, Fury tells Coulson, Coulson tells Clint, Clint tells Natasha, Natasha tells Bruce and Bruce tells Pepper, who then tells Steve, that Tony is neglecting his consultancy work for S.H.I.E.L.D.

‘I just knew this was going to be a distraction.’ Pepper sighs in a long-suffering tone over the phone, ‘I warned Tony not to do it.’ 

‘Are we discussing Bruce’s new costume and the bet?’ Steve asks in polite confusion.

(Even after all this time, talking to Pepper still feels like he is talking to one of the razor-sharp administration girls, from the MI5 office in London, during the war - like she can somehow smell his secrets down the phone line.) 

‘Not the costume, no.’ Pepper huffs, ‘Though that _is_ a ridiculous side-project and I really wish Tony and Reed would grow up sometimes. I actually meant Johnny.’ 

‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you now, ma’am.’ Steve replies, wrapping the phone cord absentmindedly around his fingers. 

‘Put it this way,’ Pepper says darkly, ‘the last time Johnny Storm came around, he cost SI over $100,000 in legal fees and lost us a good two months of productivity while Tony drowned his sorrows in Vegas.’ 

Steve is blind-sided by this information and for a moment doesn’t know how to reply. Somehow, through the ether, Pepper must know this too, because she continues softly: 

‘I’m sorry, Steve, I’m probably not making a lot of sense to you right now. I’m in Singapore and I’m incredibly jet-lagged. What I really just called to ask, is if you’d go down to the workshop for me today? Remind Tony that he has other commitments he needs to worry about - not just designing bomb-proof underwear. Can you do that for me, please?’   
  
‘I’m not sure he’ll listen to me, Miss Potts, Tony seems rather . . . involved these days.’ 

‘Oh I have every faith in you, Captain.’ Pepper coos sweetly, her tone going surprisingly playful, ‘If anyone can get through to Tony, it’ll be you.’ 

Then, she’s gone with a short click before Steve can even process what she had asked him to do.  
  
All he _does_ know, is that something sounds fishy.

Unfortunately for Steve too, his supersoldier senses are rarely ever wrong.

The afternoon that he bites the bullet and goes down to see Tony, the workshop is in its usual state of chaotic disarray and unruly clutter. The lights are dimmed low, apart from a bright cluster of LED spotlights illuminating the plinth in the centre of the room and a new, pungent smell of burning rubber hangs heavy in the air. 

Like a museum artefact on display, Johnny Storm stands totally naked on the plinth, bar a few charred scraps of fabric covering across his muscled chest. His arms are thrown out languidly to the sides and between his legs kneels Tony, analysing a tiny fragment of blackened material on his thigh with a magnifying glass, his other hand curled around Johnny’s hip for balance. 

They’re talking quietly to each other, something that even with his sensitive hearing, Steve can’t quite make out. Storm must say something amusing though, because Tony suddenly chuckles and slaps him on the side of the ass in reprimand. 

Johnny seems unphased by this and drops a hand to Tony’s head, running his fingers affectionately through the thick, dark curls like . . . like . . . like a _lover_ might do. 

At the sound of the door closing behind him, they both jump and look over to Steve quickly, Johnny’s face melting in to a cocky smirk and Tony’s going uncharacteristically pale. 

‘F-fellas.’ Steve stammers, shock and rage blotting whatever he had been going to say completely from his mind.   
  
‘Sorry about the birthday suit, Cap!’ Johnny shouts over his shoulder, ‘We’ve been in here for hours and it looks like I’m just too hot for Tony to handle.’

Not trusting himself to formulate a response, Steve had simply turned on his heel and fled.   
  


* * *

  
Pacing his kitchen like a caged animal, Steve’s mind whirs a mile a minute. 

‘JARVIS?’ He snaps without meaning to, coming to a halt by the refrigerator. 

‘Yes, Captain?’ 

‘Run an internet search on Johnny Storm, tell me what you find.’ 

There is a moment of pause.

‘I already have a previous profile for Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm saved to my data banks by Mr Stark, Captain.’ JARVIS says calmly, ‘Shall I read it to you?’ 

‘Uhh, not right now, just give me a brief summary, please.’ 

‘As you wish, Captain.’ JARVIS says neutrally, ‘Please wait one moment while I formulate an essential data summary from the file: Crazy Sheet-Destroying Bastard Never Text.’

Steve looks up at the ceiling in confusion, ‘What was that?’ 

‘That was the name of the file that Mr Storm’s profile has been saved under by Mr Stark.’ JARVIS says. 

‘Why?’ Steve demands, completely forgetting his manners. 

‘I believe it was a name that Mr Stark chose while inebriated.’ JARVIS explains, sounding almost disapproving, ‘Sir is notorious for giving unflattering nicknames to the data profiles of those he has terminated relationships with.’ 

Steve feels like a lead weight drops down in to his stomach. 

‘Are you allowed to tell me what sort of relationship they might of had, JARVIS?’ He asks quietly. 

‘As the answer has already been released in to the public domain via People Magazine,’ JARVIS says in a voice that _definitely_ sounds disapproving now, ‘I believe I can, Captain. Mr Stark was involved in a romantic relationship with Mr Storm for 5 months between November 2006 and March 2007.’   
  
‘Oh my god.’ Steve whispers, leaning heavily against the counter. 

‘The relationship ended during a holiday to the Caribbean island of Antigua, Captain, after Mr Stark and Mr Storm argued and Mr Storm set fire to the hotel bed.’ 

After a long pause, Jarvis says, almost apprehensively, ‘Shall I continue with the report, Captain Rogers?’ 

‘Uhh, no thanks.’ Sighs Steve, ‘I think I’ve heard enough.’


	5. If You Want Me To Travel Over Moonlit Miles, For A Precious Smile

There’s only so long you can wallow in angry self-pity at a perceived betrayal - by the man you not-so secretly love, though you had no intention of telling him, so is it really even a betrayal after all? - before people start calling you out on it. 

People, being James Buchanan Barnes, that is.   
  
‘So, anythin’ new with you?’ Bucky asks innocently, legs flung over the back of the sofa in Steve’s apartment and helping himself, upside down, to a plum from the fruit bowl on the coffee table. 

‘You seriously askin’, or this your new way of ragging on me?’ Steve grunts from his armchair, glaring moodily out the window. 

‘Geez, crawl out your own ass! You think I came all the way from Wakanda just to mess with you?’ Bucky scolds him, flipping himself up the right way and throwing the plum at Steve’s chest, ‘I can think of plenty of ways to spend an afternoon in NYC that don’t involve you and your cloying catholic guilt.’ 

‘Damn it, I’m sorry, Buck’ Steve sighs, catching the fruit in mid air, ‘I don’t mean to be a jerk, I just gotta lot on my mind these last few days is all.’ 

‘Believe me, I can tell, buddy.’ Bucky smiles sympathetically; his real smile, the one that makes you feel like everything is somehow going to be A-okay, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this blue. Anything I can help with? I can beat someone up if you like, just like old times?’ 

‘Thanks but no thanks. This ain’t that kind of problem.’ Steve says roughly. 

‘Well damn, did they suck all the Brooklyn as well as the asthma out of you with that serum?’ Bucky teases, getting up from the sofa and punching him lightly on the shoulder before turning it in to a long, friendly squeeze, ‘We’re New-Yorkers, pal, _any_ kind of problem is that kind of problem if you just punch it hard enough. You gotta wish upon a star or something.’ 

‘Wish upon a star for an ass kicking?’ Steve laughs, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand, ‘Look, much as I appreciate it, Buck, this one really _ain’t_ like that this time.’   
  
There’s a long pause for a while, as Bucky sits statue-still on the arm of Steve’s chair and seems to think deeply. The rhythmic ticking of the clock above the bookshelf the only sound in the room. 

‘It’s about love, isn’t it?’ He murmurs eventually, voice decidedly neutral, ‘You’re all twisted up over some guy, aren’t you?’ 

‘You gonna court-martial me if I say yes?’ Steve quietly retorts without looking at him. 

‘Pull the other one, Captain Idiot, I’ve known you were hot for cats as well as dames since you were in short trousers. Hell, _I’m_ your first kiss.’ Bucky scoffs, ruffling Steve’s hair, ‘Nice to see you’re still useless with both though.’ 

‘Buuuuck!’ Steve whines, ‘You really gotta bring that up?’ 

‘I really kinda do actually.’ Bucky chuckles, his ruffling turning softer, becoming more of a comforting caress through Steve’s short, blonde spikes, ‘Listen though, Stevie, you aren’t torn up about this fella because you think it’s . . . _wrong_ or something, are you? Cos I can assure you, things have changed since you were iced-up. I mean, I was in Berlin briefly in the mid 90s and geez Louise, you ain’t never seen so much—’

‘It’s not that.’ Steve cuts him off sharply, ‘It’s definitely not that.’   
  
‘Okay,’ Bucky says, puzzled, ‘Then what is it?’ 

‘I’m in love with Tony Stark.’ Steve gives in, words coming out in a quick jumble. 

‘Ah.’ Bucky nods, getting up and heading to the refrigerator. 

‘You aren’t gonna ask me anythin’ more?’ Steve asks. 

‘Don’t need to.’ Bucky shrugs, cracking a cold beer open with his teeth and spitting the cap in to his hand, ‘Says it all really, don’t it?’ 

‘What does?’

‘Tony Stark.’ 

‘Meanin’ what?’ Steve sits forward, defensiveness brewing in his gut. 

‘Means that after all this time you're still a damn masochist who likes bombshell brunettes that bust your balls.’ Bucky laughs, ‘Oh, and for the record, I already knew. You were kinda obvious to say the least, what with ditching your best girl to stay stuck here in the future for a guy who has every reason to hate your guts.’

‘Tony doesn’t hate me. We’re past that. At least, I hope we are. Do you have a reason to believe otherwise, Buck? Cos if you do, you should tell me.’

‘Keep your cowl on, soldier. I don’t know shit.’ Bucky assures him, slipping the plum out of Steve’s hands and taking a big, satisfied bite, ‘Although, I would take a gamble that a man who moves you in to his mega-building and spends all his free time staring at your star-spangled ass is probably, at the bare minimum, somewhat interested.’

‘You sure know how to make a guy feel special.’ Steve scoffs.

‘Someone’s gotta keep you in check. I gotta say though, I’ll make sure to say a sermon of Hail Marys for you in church next time, Steven Rogers - you’re either going to die of carnal misadventure if you go there with Tony or chronic heartache if you don’t.’ 

Steve can’t even come up with an answer to that, because in his usual, cuttingly observant way, Bucky is absolutely bang on the money. 

‘I didn’t used to _want_ to take it further with Tony.’ he says eventually, head dropping in to his hands, ‘After everything that happened . . . I got hints maybe that we could, but, it just never felt like the right time. So, I made peace with it. Figured it’d just always stay a maybe. But then, this guy, _Johnny Storm_ , he starts hanging round Tony and—’

‘You’re jealous as fuck and you wish you’d stopped hesitating and just done things differently?’ Bucky finishes for him. 

‘I think they used to be sweethearts too.’ Steve nods, ‘Kinda stings that he might get to shoot his shot twice when I haven’t even loaded mine.’ 

‘I dunno why you worry.’ Scoffs Bucky, ‘You’re Captain America, what’s this guy got that you don’t have, an extra John Thomas or something?’ 

‘You didn’t see them together.’ Steve says, ignoring Bucky’s vulgar reply, ‘Plus, Tony hasn’t had the best relationship with Captain America over the years, jury’s still out whether or not he still thinks I came out of a bottle.’ 

‘Steve.’ Bucky cuts him off sharply, holding a hand up, ‘You overthink things. Whatever’s going on, you’ll figure it out, cos we _both_ know that none of what’s honest and decent about you came out of any damn bottle and if someone can’t see that, well, then they ain’t worth a red cent anyway. Now look, quit moping around, I’m here on vacation and you’re making me really depressed.’ 

‘Thanks, Buck, you’re a real pal.’ Steve smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

_Days without incident of being a pathetic, lovesick moon-calf because Tony Stark is hanging out with his ex and you’re pitifully sweet on him: reset to 0.  
  
_

* * *

There’s only so long you can avoid all unnecessary contact with a teammate, that you have to save the world with on a regular basis, before people start to notice. 

People, being Natasha Romanov, that is. 

‘You’re avoiding Tony.’ She accuses Steve, swiping his feet out from underneath him with a wooden pole and sending him face first in to the sparring mat, ‘Why?’ 

‘Who says I’m avoiding him?’ Steve pants, springing back up and catching the pole in his hand, twisting it sharply out of her grip before swinging it towards her head. 

‘Me.’ Natasha says, voice unruffled as she dodges the pole and dives for cover across the gym, ‘Plus, practically everyone else who knows the pair of you. Even Thor knows something is up.’   
  
‘Thor’s noticed?’ Steve stops in amazement, foolishly allowing Natasha an opening to knock him off his feet once again. 

‘Yes. He apparently asked Bruce whether ‘Friend Anthony’ had done something to offend ‘Noble Captain America’s’ honour again and whether he should start to prepare for another duel.’ 

‘Oh gosh.’ Steve wheezes from the mat, winded. 

‘Indeed.’ Agrees Natasha, allowing him a moment of reprieve to pick himself up before she smacks him across the shoulders with the pole again, ‘When you and Tony fight, you tend to take the rest of us down with you. So, answer my question: why are you avoiding him?’   
  
‘It’s complicated.’ Steve pants, blocking her ferocious parries with his shield. 

‘I’ve got time.’ 

‘I don’t want to talk about it?’ Steve tries again plaintively, narrowly dodging losing an eye.

‘I think you should.’ Natasha replies, throwing a widow bite his way and forcing him to eat mat for the third time in order to avoid it.

‘And if I refuse?’ Steve groans, voice muffled by the sweaty faux-leather in his mouth. 

‘Then, I suppose I won’t force you to.’ Natasha says thoughtfully, tossing her gorgeous hair out of her eyes as she crouches near by him, ‘But, only because I already know what it’s about anyway and it’s not actually something that’ll immediately affect the integrity of the team.’

‘So what’s the point to asking at all?’ Steve pants, pushing himself up. 

‘Because, if any two people deserve to be happy, it’s you and Tony, Cap.’ Natasha states, as though it’s a quantifiable fact, ‘I don’t want to have to interfere, so, I strongly advise that you drop your jilted-maiden act as soon as possible.’ 

‘Why?’ Steve sighs, not even bothering to protest this time. 

‘It’s unprofessional for one,’ Natasha calls back, walking away towards the gym doors, her hips swinging hypnotically, ‘and two, Tony might actually start to think he’s blown his chance with you and then get back together with his ex for real.’ 

‘Oh, yeah? Which damn one?’ Steve mutters bitterly, not intending for anyone to hear.

‘Flame on, Идиот.’ Natasha answers anyway, disappearing round the corner in a flash of black suit and red curls, leaving him lying on the mat with something twisted and ugly stirring in his gut.   
  
_Days without incident of being inexcusably unprofessional and defiant because Tony Stark is hanging out with his ex and you’re still pitifully sweet on him: reset to 0.  
  
_

* * *

There’s only so long you can try to be secretly angry - for petty, ridiculous reasons - at Tony Stark before Tony _himself_ actually notices it too.

That is to say, he notices it and then confronts you about it in his highly combative manner, causing a massive argument when you’re just trying to have a quiet cup of coffee with friends in the living room of Stark Tower on a Tuesday afternoon. 

‘Cap, this is getting ridiculous, stop being a dick and talk to me.’ Tony demands bluntly, striding confidently through the elevator doors in a flurry of machine-smell and tastefully disheveled wife-beater. 

‘Shit, I’m out, dude.’ Sam says instantly, abandoning his untouched coffee and jumping up to grab his coat from the back of a beanbag. 

‘Wait for me.’ Bruce calls after him, throwing his tablet down and sprinting towards the exit at breakneck speed. 

‘Tony, what the— what in the hell was that?’ Steve splutters angrily, caught completely unawares and a little flustered. 

(It’s been a while since he’s seen the billionaire after all and gosh darn it, doesn’t he just get devilishly handsomer by the day, Steve is so totally screwed!!)

‘Just setting the mood.’ Tony drawls, tossing a spanner between his smoke-blackened hands agitatedly, ‘You see, I _was_ going to be a gentleman and wait for you to finish your little bitch-fit, _but_ , as it seems like that won’t happen anytime this century, I thought it best to confront the problem head on. You know, before we have to work together on a superhero squad or something like that.’ 

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Steve growls, pushing himself up and stalking to the little sideboard where they put the used coffee things for the staff to take away, ‘The team is fine and I don’t see what it has to do with anything.’

‘Okay then, play dumb, that’s real mature for someone over 90 years old.’ Tony sighs in exasperation. 

‘Well, what do you want me to say?’ Steve demands, wheeling around, his built-up anger starting to get the better of him, no matter how ill-placed he knows it is. 

‘Uhh, how about the reason why I’m suddenly persona non grata, when frankly, I don’t actually remember doing anything to deserve it this time.’ Tony retorts snappishly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

‘Maybe not everything is about you.’ Steve glares.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Are you ignoring Black Widow and Hawkeye too?’ Tony gasps, spanner clutched to his chest dramatically, ‘Answer: no, you’re not. It’s just me and though you may think I’m chronically antisocial, Cap, I can gather a hint from that.’ 

‘Don’t tell me what I think.’ Steve warns.

‘Trust me, I won’t.’ Tony mocks, ‘Cos honestly, I’m starting to think that you don’t think _at all_.’

‘Well, thanks. I’m surprised you still had room in that big, old head of yours to waste on me.’ Steve mutters, turning away.

‘Huh? Do you hear yourself?’ Tony says, laughing contemptuously and pacing his side of the room in frustration, ‘I have no idea what’s gotten in to you this week, Cap. In fact, do _you_ even know what’s going on in your head? 'Cos genuinely, I’m starting to think this is some kind of late-onset, post-popsicle dementia or something, because—’

‘I thought you’d be pleased to have me out of the way.’ Steve interrupts, the cup he’d been holding for the entire conversation shattering suddenly under his grip, ‘I’ve been trying to give you space, Tony.’ 

There’s a pause for a second.

Tony looks momentarily dumbfounded, his eyes boring holes in the side of Steve’s face, before he shakes himself alert and yells:

‘What the fuck are you talking about? Space from what? From who? Have you been smoking Bruce’s secret stash of jazz-cabbage? Or are you completely and utterly—’

‘I saw what I saw!’ Steve shouts, turning and slamming his fist in to the concrete wall beside him with a sickening crunch, ‘Even _I_ know when to leave a situation the hell alone, Tony, and you should too.’

Tony stares blankly at him, crumbled chunks of grey rock falling noisily on the floor by his feet. 

‘Right, so you punched my building. That still doesn’t explain what in the name of all that is good and holy you are actually talking about.’ He shouts, pacing the room again, his arms waving wildly, ‘Are you taking how-to-be-cryptic classes from Yoda? You saw what exactly, Cap? You gotta refresh my memory, because the last time I saw _you_ , was when you burst into my lab for no reason when I was experimenting with. . .’

Tony stops dead, voice dropping away and his whole face going bright pink. Steve looks down at the floor, his heart beating a mile a minute and his own cheeks turning a flush of red. 

‘I see.’ Tony whispers, so quiet that it’s almost too low to hear, ‘Is this why you’ve been broodingly stalking the tower like some kind of super-human Mr Darcy?’ 

‘It’s not— I’m not—’ Steve starts. 

‘Who am I kidding, of course it is.’ Tony finishes, shock disappearing and his anger returning with a powerful vengeance, ‘Makes perfect sense. Why bestow even a single minute of your precious time upon _me_ , your friend, in order to actually _ask_ what’s going on? When naturally, you _could_ just assume the worst and act like a raving lunatic because of it.’ 

‘I don’t have to—’

‘Oh, and I suppose _that_ explains why I’ve been hearing that you’ve been having super-secret slumber parties with Snow Patrol again.’ Tony rambles on, ‘Nice way to lick your supposed wounds, Rogers. Barnes is very attractive after all. Wish I’d thought of that with Johnny actually, instead of just sitting here on my hands, trying to figure out what exactly I’ve done to piss you off _this_ time.’ 

‘What on earth does Bucky have to do with this?’ Steve hisses, taking a menacing step forward, ‘Leave him out of it.’ 

‘I see,’ Tony snarls, also taking a step forward, ‘so _you_ get to hate on _my_ ex-boyfriend but I don’t get to hate on yours? That it, Cap?’ 

‘Watch your damn mouth, Stark.’ Steve warns, ‘You don’t know a thing about me and him.’

‘You don’t get to tell me that in my own fucking house, Rogers.’ Tony sneers, ‘I don’t care how in love with Bucky fucking Barnes you are.’   
  
Without even registering it, Steve picks up another mug from the sideboard and throws it full pelt at the wall by Tony’s head. 

Somewhere overhead, an alarm goes off in the Tower. 

‘Sir, I really must protest—’ JARVIS’ voice echoes through the sitting room as Tony, in a burst of furious movement, sprints to the wall by the elevator doors, picks up a large glass vase off a shelf and hurls it violently back at Steve. 

‘You dare throw my fucking shit at me, Rogers.’ He screams, face twisted in rage. 

‘Don’t talk about things you don’t understand then.’ Steve bellows back, tossing another cup at him, ‘You don’t know anything about Bucky, Tony, you’ll never know how much he’s done for me.’ 

‘Probably all the same things Johnny used to do for me.’ Tony roars, ripping another vase off the shelf and sending it sailing the same way, ‘I thought we were past all this, Steve. But you, you’re still always so fucking wrong when you should be right. I can’t believe that I even thought for one second it might of worked out between us.’ 

‘Oh yeah? Well, I’m sure the Human Torch can provide plenty of _warm_ company instead.’ Steve spits, dodging the splinters of a vase as it shatters on a TV screen behind him. 

‘You _asshole_!’ Tony yells, searching around for something else to throw, ‘JARVIS, send my fucking suit up here, I’m going to kick his—’

‘ **ENOUGH**.’ Thor’s voice booms as he bursts in to the room - followed by a pissed-off looking Clint - rattling the remaining glass in its frames and sending sparks of blue lightening snapping through the air, ‘Is this the way warrior leaders of Midgard behave? For sure, I am ashamed of you my shield-brothers.’ 

‘Yeah, what the fuck guys?’ Clint agrees, ‘Also, is that Pepper’s priceless, hand-blown Venetian vase smashed to bits on the floor? It better not be, or I hope neither of you two were overly fond of living.’ 

Surprised by their sudden entrance, Tony and Steve stand rooted to the spot on opposite sides of the room, like little children caught in the act of squabbling. Their chests heaving in unison and a graveyard of smashed crockery strewn between them. 

_Oh dear god . . ._ Steve thinks, shame and panic suddenly extinguishing his remaining anger and burning sickly inside his chest, _what have I done?!_

 _Days without incident of being an unhinged, jealous jerk because Tony Stark is still hanging out with his ex and you’re_ still _humiliatingly sweet on him: reset to — oh, just fuck it!!!_


	6. Following My Lonely Heart, Call On Me, Take Me

* * *

To say that Nick Fury is a man with little patience for bullshit, is about as much of an understatement as referring to Thanos as being slightly ambitious or the Hulk as being a tad grumpy. Nick Fury is a man who tolerates bullshit with about as much grace as a feral cat tolerates being dunked in a bucket of ice water. That is to say, with copious amounts of hissing, spitting and the potential for those around to lose vital limbs.   
  
When Coulson had informed the director that Captain America and Iron Man had been fighting with each other, to the point that Coulson himself believed both of them to be temporarily emotionally compromised, Fury had benched Tony and Steve so hard that the aftershocks could be felt all over Manhattan. 

So, Thor has taken interim control of the remaining Avengers.

According to Natasha, he and Clint were going to draw straws for the honour, but Thor refused on account that he was over 1000 years older, already a king, apparently more handsome and actually worthy of Mjölnir, thus a better ruler than Hawkeye could ever hope to be, even if it was just for a month. 

Clint had been reluctant to agree to this at first, _but_ after Thor had promised him an all-night, Asgardian-Royal-Siblings consolation-fuck with him and Loki as compensation, he had never been so quick to say yes.

Natasha thinks they’re all idiots and Bruce seems to just be happy that no one has asked him to do anything that might mean he’d have to leave the polymer work in his lab. 

So, yeah, Steve and Tony are benched for a month. With a further outrageously cruel caveat, that neither of them can actually return to active duty until they each sign a confirmation document that the _other_ is fit for service.

Which, seeing as Steve is still cripplingly embarrassed and avoiding all Stark contact like the plague and Tony has no interest in being on the same floor of the tower yet, let alone in the same room as the supersoldier, has been rather a slow project to get off the ground.

Still, Fury is a man who can’t be moved.

Despite numerous written, electronic and voice messages from Steve protesting the strategic danger of their mutual grounding. Despite numerous threats from Tony to cut funding to everything Fury has ever loved, including and not limited to, his favourite coffee brand. Even despite Thor giving a PR interview on BBC, a day in to his role as temporary leader, where he referred to Vladimir Putin as a ‘tiny, worthless scoundrel’. The director still refuses to see either of them until there is _at least_ some second-hand confirmation that they’ve tried to resolve their issues like grown-ups, instead of throwing things around like ‘stupid, useless, two year-old motherfuckers’ as he so eloquently puts it. 

To make matters worse, Johnny Storm and Reed Richards have also been asked to fill in with the other Avengers while the pair of them are gone. Meaning that, for the first time since Thanos, a set of superhero units are joining together officially and neither Tony nor Steve are there to witness it (read: mastermind it like the pair of obsessive control-freaks they are). 

Coulson even called Johnny Storm ‘Captain Rogers’ Replacement’, which _ouch_ , talk about adding insult to injury. 

If there’s a god out there and he’s not related to Thor in some way, he really seems to hate Steve this week.   
  


* * *

  
_Days of being benched: 3._

_Apologies to Tony Stark: 0._

‘You and Tony still be stubborn asses?’ Natasha asks, face smudged with the ash of a recent fire fight.

Steve, who is eating a bland bowl of granola in the communal kitchen and definitely not watching the news of Dr Doom’s explosive escape from S.H.I.E.L.D captivity, ignores her. 

‘Мужчины глупые.’ Clint reassures her. 

* * *

_  
Days of being benched: 8._

_Apologies to Tony Stark: 0. But Steve did see him through the doors of the gym today and it felt like his stomach was going to fall out his ass.  
_

‘Noble friend Steven, do you and the Man of Iron still persist in your quarrel?’ Thor booms, his cloak flaming in places as he shatters through a large window of Stark Tower’s swimming pool area. 

‘Yep.’ Steve puffs out through his front crawl. 

‘I understand you humans ill, Captain.’ Thor sighs, ‘Love should be the sweetest of all emotions, should it not?’

‘There’s a flying robot outside.’ Steve warns him. 

Thor swears in colourful Asgardian and darts back out through the glass to throw himself at the doombot in a blinding flash of sapphire-blue lightening. 

* * *

_  
Days of being benched: 13._

_Apologies to Tony Stark: 0._

‘I just wanted to make sure that . . . you don’t blame _me_ for any of this do you?’ Bruce asks tentatively.

‘Of course not.’ Steve smiles warmly, taking a big sip of the flask of chamomile tea offered to him and then instantly regretting it, ‘Me and Tony were headed for a showdown for a while.’ 

‘That’s good.’ Bruce nods, looking nervously over the ledge of the 79th floor window, ‘You’re not . . . you’re not going to jump or anything, are you?’ 

‘Nope, just sitting here and catching the night breeze.’ 

‘That sounds not true, but okay.’ 

‘I’m honestly fine, Bruce.’ Steve says gently, handing the flask back politely and looking out over the city, ‘In fact, I’m actually enjoying the time off.’ 

‘That sounds _very_ not true, but I’m scared of heights, so okay.’   
  


* * *

_Days of being benched: 19._

_Apologies to Tony Stark: 0. But Steve could smell his and Johnny’s aftershave mingled in the elevator today and it almost broke his heart.  
_

_‘_ You’re not supposed to be out here, Captain.’ Daredevil says firmly, stepping out from behind the shadow of an air-conditioning unit.

‘I’m just taking a walk.’ Steve assures, tucking his shield behind his back. 

‘It’s okay, Matt.’ Clint calls from the rooftop over, ‘He’s with me.’ 

‘Are you following me?’ Steve demands spinning around. 

‘Both of you get lost please, I don’t have time for this.’ Daredevil sighs in a long-suffering way. 

‘Touchy.’ Clint grunts, jumping through the air and landing next to Steve in a flurry of black, ‘What crawled up your ass tonight, Double D, and do you mind if I join it?’ 

‘Firstly, one of these days I _will_ sue you for sexual harassment.’ Daredevil glares, ‘Secondly, your so-called leaders are clearly having a lover’s tiff again. All night I’ve had to deal with lovesick Avengers clogging up the good rooftops, _all night_ , Clint.’ 

‘Whose got a lover?’ A voice calls out from above, as another shadowy figure swings down towards them from a large radio aerial, ‘Hey, guys. This some kind of secret hero club going on up here?’ 

‘Oh, well that’s just great, now Spider-Man’s here too. Why can’t you people ever go annoy the X-men, or something?’ Daredevil groans, rubbing his temples and walking towards the steep ledge, ‘I’m leaving.’ 

‘Ooh, wait for me!’ Peter calls, swinging away after him, ‘I have a legal question for my sociology homework. Uhh, Mr Devil? Hey! Wait! Gotta dash, bye other superhero co-workers.’ 

‘You know,’ Clint says to Steve as they watch the pair disappear into the night in twin flashes of red, ‘He’s kind of got a point.’ 

* * *

_  
Days of being benched: 21_

_Apologies to Tony Stark: -1. Steve called Johnny Storm an asshole in a meeting he wasn’t supposed to be at in the first place today.  
_

‘You know, for a person who isn’t even technically an Avenger right now, you sure gotta lot of nerve, Cap.’ 

‘You think this is about me being an Avenger? You are very much mistaken, kid. Currently, all I want is to figure out is how to—’

‘Get Tony Stark to be your sugar-daddy boyfriend? I know, Cap, we _all_ know.’

‘. . . You goddamn asshole—’

‘Damn it, how does he even keep getting in here? Johnny, don’t you dare catch fire! And Rogers, put that damn chair down, you’ve just earned yourself an extra week on the bench.’ 

* * *

_  
Days of being benched: 25_

_Apologies to Tony Stark: 0.  
  
_

‘Do you know where Tony is right now, Captain?’ the unimpressed voice of Pepper Potts demands through Steve’s phone. 

‘No, I don’t, ma’am. Is there a problem?’ Steve says worriedly, fear quickly clenching in his gut. 

‘Oh no, no problem at all.’ Pepper says airily, ‘Just that the face of the biggest corporation on the planet is currently drunk canoeing live on national television.’ 

‘Tony’s gone canoeing? Which river?’ Steve asks, concerned. 

‘The NYC Pavement River.’ Pepper snaps, ‘In fact, why don’t you just take a look out the window actually; look down towards the set of traffic lights directly in front of the tower.’ 

‘I’m sorry, Miss Potts, I don’t see any— oh!’ 

‘Not a pretty sight, is it?’

‘Uhh, no. Is that a . . . a tricorn hat?’

‘Yes, Steve, yes it is.’ 

‘Ah . . . ’

‘Please, fix this.’ 

* * *

_Days of being benched: 27_

_Apologies to Tony Stark: 0. But Steve doesn’t think he can take this much longer.  
_

‘Are you dying?’ Loki asks, peering over him as he lies on the floor of the training room, listlessly throwing a ratty baseball up at the ceiling, ‘You certainly _smell_ like you are dying.’ 

‘What in the hell do _you_ want?’ Steve grunts in reply. 

‘Rather a dull greeting, even from you, Captain.’ Loki tuts, walking gracefully up the wall to hover annoyingly on the ceiling directly in his line of sight, ‘No petty insults this time? No rousing speech on justice? No physically improbable yet predictable attacks with your precious shield?’ 

‘I’m not on the clock, buddy, beat it.’ 

‘I see.’ Loki sighs, twirling back to the ground in ribbons of green magic, ‘I must admit, I was rather expecting quite a bit more of a fight when I got here. This is a little . . . disappointing.

‘Yeah? Well, sorry to burst your bubble. Thor’s down the hall, third door on the left, the handle sticks, so jiggle it a bit.’ 

‘. . . Thank you?’ 

‘Don't mention it.’ 

* * *

_  
Days of being benched: 29_

_Apologies to Tony Stark: 1_

  
‘It would appear as though The Pentagon is under attack from hostile alien creatures that experts are calling ‘space witches’. Currently, the Avengers are on the scene, but it is unclear how long this skeleton team can hold out against—’

‘Truce?’ Tony pants from beside Steve as the pair run through the lobby of the tower together. 

‘Truce.’ Steve agrees, pulling on his cowl, ‘Can you give me a lift? I’ll sign your document when we get back.’

‘Sure thing, old-timer. I’ll sign yours too.’ Tony suddenly stops dead, ‘Fair warning though: if you piss me off or try to boss me around up there, I’m ditching your red-white-and-blue ass straight in to the nearest sewage facility.’ 

_Okay, maybe 0.5 of an apology._   
  



	7. Far Over The Seas, I Return In My Dreams, Sailing Home Under The Stars, To Be Safe In Your Arms

All in all, it’s a good day.  


The Pentagon escapes its alien attack with minimal physical damage and no civilians are harmed. The space witches are almost comically easy to kill, once Natasha figures out that they dissolve after contact with water and the Avengers have a great time kicking their collective asses.   


Nick Fury officially accepts Steve and Tony back into the heat of battle without _any_ prolonged argument and even un-benches them afterwards.   


Oh, and Johnny Storm falls in to a fountain when Hulk accidentally punches him out of the sky while trying to hit a space witch.  


Steve is mature and doesn’t even laugh at him, though it’s a close thing. 

Yep, all in all, it’s been a swell day.   


After the quickest debrief at S.H.I.E.L.D HQ - where Fury surprisingly doesn’t tear anyone a new asshole for property damage, not even Thor who threw a whole bus through a window, so he really _must_ be pleased - Steve showers and then heads out with Clint, Natasha and Bruce for hotdogs back in NYC.   


‘Oh my god!’ Clint moans through a mouthful of bun, actually wiping away a tear from his eye, ‘These are so fucking good, this is my new favourite thing ever, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.’   


‘Didn’t you say the same thing after your tryst with Thorki two days ago?’ Bruce says, looking up from slathering his chilli-dog in mustard.  


‘A gentleman never kisses and tells, Banner.’ Clint sing-songs, sticking his tongue out, ‘Don’t be jelly that I’m now getting more action on a Thursday evening at home than you’ve ever gotten in your natural-born life.’ 

‘Ladies please.’ Natasha soothes, sipping at her supersize cola, ‘Haven’t we had enough fighting this month?’   


‘Oh yeah!’ Clint says shrewdly, turning to face Steve, ‘Thor says you and Tony made up, Cap. But, seeing as you’re still sitting here with us, instead of out getting rimmed to within an inch of your life on his super-yacht somewhere, I think that’s probably a lie.’   


Bruce clucks in distaste and Natasha tosses a rolled-up napkin at Clint’s face. Steve blushes so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t pass out and stammers: 

‘I—I, uhh, that is to say— me and Tony, well, it’s a truce, but . . . umm—’

‘God, you’re hopeless.’ Natasha sighs.

‘I’m working on it.’ Steve says miserably.  


‘If it’s any consolation,’ Bruce smiles gently, patting him on the arm, ‘I fixed my polymer problem.’   


‘You did?’

‘Yeah, well, Tony fixed it actually. He texted me about an hour ago to swing by the workshop with my measurements when I’m done here. So, I guess Reed will go back to his own lab ASAP and Johnny probably won’t be hanging round the tower much from tomorrow.’ 

‘Oh.’ Steve nods glumly, ‘That’s . . . good.’  


‘Maybe you should take the measurements to Tony for me instead, Steve.’ Bruce tries again, a little more firmly, pushing a scrap of paper with scribbled numbers on it across the table towards him, ‘I think he’d really appreciate seeing you.’   


‘I’m not so sure about that, Bruce, I—’

‘Steve.’ Natasha cuts him off, stroking her hand up his shoulder and dropping her voice in to a syrupy whisper, ‘If you don’t go and make up with Tony right now, you’ll be missing out on the perfect chance to be with the man you love and also to stop acting like a jealous idiot. Plus, if you don’t, I’ll be very, _very_ angry at you and trust me soldier, you won’t like me when I’m angry.’ 

There is a pause. 

Bruce flushes scarlet, looking both aroused and intimidated in equal measure. Clint chokes on his hot-dog and mutters something about writing good eulogies. Steve takes the hint, grabs the paper and gets out of there as fast as he can in a cab headed straight for Stark Tower.   
  


* * *

The workshop is almost completely darkened when Steve types in the code and lets himself in.

On a large table in the corner, tucked away between piles of singed scrap and half-finished bots, a white LED desk-light shines brightly over Tony’s hunched form as he fiddles with one of the gauntlets of his Iron Man suit. 

He doesn’t look up when Dum-e chirps a robotic welcome at Steve, his face wrinkled in concentration and a tiny screwdriver clutched delicately in his hand. 

‘My, my, Dr Banner,’ he says lowly, pulling a thin yellow wire out of the gauntlet, ‘what big arms you have.’ 

‘Hey.’ Steve says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘Bruce sent me.’ 

‘I highly doubt that.’ Tony replies, dropping his work and spinning round on his stool to face Steve, ‘You’re a terrible liar, Cap, and this has Natasha Romanov written all over it.’ 

‘Guilty.’ Steve chuckles nervously, ‘But . . . I did actually want to see you.’ 

Tony gets up quickly from his seat and crosses the room to another desk, where a large half-empty bottle of scotch sits and pours two generous measures in to a pair of glass beakers. 

‘I don’t have any clean mugs.’ He explains, offering one to Steve, ‘Drink?’ 

‘No thanks.’ Steve answers, shaking his head, ‘It’s a little early for me.’ 

‘It’s 6 o’clock somewhere.’ Tony shrugs, pouring the second measure back in to his own beaker and downing the whole lot in one, ‘There. I’m now sufficiently fortified to deal with human conversation. Hit me with your best shot.’

Steve stands rooted to his spot on the floor by the door. Honestly, he was sort of expecting more of an argument with the billionaire before they got round to any of the important stuff.

To now see Tony leaning casually against a desk, his intelligent brown eyes trained expectantly on Steve and his expression worryingly blank, is more than a little off-putting. 

‘I, umm, well, I—’ Steve begins, wringing the piece of paper he’s still holding between his hands, ‘I wanted to ask, no, I wanted to say . . . that I. . . uhh.’ 

‘You alright there, Hugh Grant?’ Tony questions teasingly, his tone amused and his eyes softening slightly with mirth.

‘I’m sorry.’ Steve mumbles quickly, feeling like he’s teetering on the edge of a dizzying precipice with no safety harness, ‘I can’t seem to think straight right now, because I’m . . . too in love with you.’

There is a soft, tinkling smash as the beaker falls from Tony’s hands and shatters on the workshop floor, orange drops of leftover scotch bleeding from the shards. 

‘Shit.’ Steve curses, scrubbing at his face with his hand, ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t how I wanted to say that . . . Look, I’ll just be going.’ 

He turns on his heel and goes to flee towards the door, just as Tony seems to snap out of whatever trance he’d been shocked in to and yells: 

‘JARVIS! Lock that fucking door down. Emergency code 25116.’

‘Yes, sir. Initiating emergency lockdown procedures.’ 

‘Tony, what are you—?’

‘Black out the joint too, JARVIS. I don’t want anyone seeing in here.’ 

‘Turning workshop glass to full opacity, sir.’ 

‘Tony, please, I can explain—’

‘Shut up, Cap. Cut all camera feeds and block all calls until further notice.’ 

‘Communication lockdown complete, sir. May I ask what you are intending to do with Captain Rogers?’ 

‘Better cover your ears, JARVIS.’ Tony answers in a low, passionate whisper, his eyes locked on Steve with smouldering intensity, ‘I’m about to fuck the living daylights out of a national icon.’ 

‘I see. As you wish, sir.’   
  


* * *

  
57 minutes later, Steve lies panting in a pile of clothes on the workshop floor, with sweat on his brow, a delicious ache in his hips and the biggest smile that he’s had on his face since 1944. 

‘I think,’ moans a satisfied Tony from next to him, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder, ‘That you broke my ass, Cap.’ 

‘I’m sorry, you did ask me to go harder.’ 

‘I’m not complaining! I’m just warning you not to expect round two anytime soon.’ 

‘Tony,’ Steve says gently gathering the man up in to his arms and kissing the top of his dark curls, ‘you know I don’t expect anything from you.’ 

‘Aaaaand there it is.’ Tony sighs, pushing himself up on to his elbow and looking down at Steve with affectionate exasperation. 

‘What.’ Steve asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.

‘You, reverting from wild, sex-god extraordinaire back in to your adorably insecure, Apple-pie self.’ Tony laughs, catching Steve’s lips in a quick but sizzling kiss, ‘C’mon soldier, let’s hash out the terms of this agreement upstairs, my back is killing me.’   
  


* * *

  
Up in the penthouse, it’s soothingly quiet.

Outside the window, the twinkling lights of the city illuminate the streets below and across the inky black heavens, a pale half-moon fills the sky with a luminous glow. 

Tony, freshly showered and smelling richly of sandalwood, putters around the bar fixing himself a whiskey sour.

When he catches sight of Steve, also freshly showered and stepping out the apartment elevator, he greets him with a soft, slightly apprehensive smile. 

‘Evening. All cleaned up?’ 

‘Yes.’ Steve nods as Tony waves him to take a seat on the sofa, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of bathing in this time.’ 

‘Water pressure that good, huh?’ 

‘Sure beats the hell out of sponge baths.’ Steve agrees.

Tony’s laugh, crisp and pleased, echoes pleasantly through the room as he slides in to place on the sofa opposite Steve, drink in hand. 

‘You crack me up sometimes, Cap.’ He chuckles, pausing for a moment and then turning serious, ‘We have got to talk though.’ 

‘I know, I’ll start.’ Steve offers, bracing his hands on his knees, ‘I owe you an apology.’ 

‘You’re already forgiven.’ Tony shrugs, ‘But go on.’   
  
‘I was . . . jealous.’ Steve sighs, shaking his head in shame, ‘After Thanos, after everything, I kind of thought that maybe we might of . . . had something. But, I got afraid and then you and Pepper got back together and then—’

‘Everything went to hell in a handcart.’ Tony supplies, eyes going dark, ‘Yeah, I remember.’ 

‘I’m sorry, Tony. I should of told you how I felt back then, but I was a coward.’

‘If you were, I was too.’ Tony corrects him, taking a sip of his cocktail and glancing quickly away, ‘I’ve been pretty much full-tilt crazy about you since the Chitauri, Cap. Pepper’s my everything, but she’s got brains and eventually she got sick of my denial.’ 

‘I’m so, so sorry.’ Steve sighs.

‘Stop apologizing. It wasn’t anything you did. _That_ was all me.’ Tony laughs humourlessly, ‘You wanna take the blame for anything, take blame for Johnny. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be high on his list to get back together with anytime soon.’ 

‘That’s not funny.’ Steve glares, blood suddenly running hot with annoyance, ‘Why the hell did you even go out with a clown like that in the first place?’ 

‘It was the early 00s.’ Tony says blandly, as if that explains everything. 

‘Meaning?’ Steve demands. 

‘Meaning that I was still sobering up from the 90s.’ 

‘Tony! You know I don’t understand that reference.’ 

‘Jesus!’ Tony groans, taking a long gulp of his drink and looking over at Steve with an unimpressed huff, ‘It means that at that time in my life, I had been doing _a lot_ of illicit substances. Mum and Dad had been gone for a while and Obie had the company in a stranglehold. I guess I was bored and just filling in the void by trying as many new things as I could. Johnny Storm was just one in a long line of things.’ 

‘You learn anything from it?’ Steve scoffs. 

‘Not a lot.’ Tony answers, smirking slightly, ‘Mostly, that I definitely liked cock just as much as I liked tits and that flame-retardant bed sheets are a must for any relationship.’ 

‘I suppose that’s something.’ Steve says grumpily. 

‘It is.’ Tony agrees, eyes sharp with curiosity, ‘Now, I’ve shown you mine, so you show me yours. What’s up with you and Mr Frosty?’ 

‘I’m assuming you mean Bucky.’ Steve states, not wanting to catch his eye, ‘Sorry to disappoint you but we’re not . . . not doing . . . _that_.’ 

Tony snaps his gaze from his drink up to Steve sharply, expression pained. 

‘Not  _not_ doing that?’ He demands, ‘Is that to say you  _are_ doing that? Or that you _used_ to do that? Or that you—’

‘I’m 100% _not_ doing that with Bucky.’ Steve corrects quickly, realising his mistake, ‘Not now. Not that I ever did. With Bucky, that is. I did with other people. I’m not . . . untouched or anything like that. Not to say that that is a bad thing. Though, the people I _did_ do it with are probably all dead by now, so maybe it doesn’t really matter and—’

‘Damn, chill out, Steve.’ Tony tells him, expression melting in to relief, ‘Don't have an aneurysm.’ 

‘I’m terrible at this.’ Steve moans, head in his hands, ‘Tony, I’ve been meaning to tell you for years that I’m as sweet on you as they come. Will you put me out of my misery by being my . . . god, I don’t even know what you call it in this time.’ 

‘Uhh, lover?’ Tony chimes in helpfully.

‘Too casual.’ Steve shakes his head. 

‘Sweetheart?’ Tony offers again, face splitting in to a grin now. 

‘Too dated.’ Steve declines, standing up from the sofa and walking slowly over to where the billionaire sits.

‘Hmmm, what about boyfriend then?’ Tony laughs, looking up at him with eyes full of mischief and affection. 

‘Still not quite right.’ Steve murmurs teasingly, pulling him up by the hand and dragging him close to his chest.

‘Partner?’ Tony supplies, lashes fluttering closed as Steve leans down to place a searing kiss on his parted lips. 

‘Getting there.’ Steve agrees, tone soft and dark, ‘I highly suggest you shut up now though.’ 

‘Oh yeah?’ Tony taunts, biting at the plush skin of the supersoldier’s bottom lip, ‘What you exactly going to do about it, honey?’ 

Not even bothering to answer, Steve hoists Tony quickly up in to his arms, wrapping the billionaire’s legs firmly around his waist before the other even has time to complain. 

‘JARVIS?’ Tony calls out delightedly as Steve walks him across the granite floor towards his bedroom, ‘Take a picture of this will you? Nice angles and everything.’ 

‘And what will you have me do with the image, sir?’ JARVIS replies in a long-suffering tone. 

‘Send a nice, high-res copy to the mobile contacts labelled ‘Red-Headed Danger’ and ‘Ash Tray’ please.’ Tony pants between furious kisses with an increasingly impatient Steve. 

‘As you wish, sir.’ JARVIS sighs, ‘Sending attached images to Natasha Romanov and Johnny Storm.’ 

— * — 


End file.
